Sunshine
by TarunaRei
Summary: [HaymitchXOC] I honestly didn't like him at all when I first met the man. Too brash, condescending almost. I think I just didn't like how I couldn't read him. Now though, I sometimes wonder if I'd be able to keep my 'sunny' disposition if I hadn't met him; if we hadn't gotten so close. Maybe not 'close' exactly...the truth is, I think I care for him too much.


A/N: This was just some drabble that I wrote while I was running through my slight Hunger Games withdrawal and suffering from the terrible third book (in my own humble opinion, anyway). I really love Haymitch's character and figure an OC like this would be interesting, and turned out to be extremely fun to write. Who knows if I'll ever write more on this, but I sure might.

* * *

I walk down the path towards Victor's Village like I've done a thousand times before. I always liked this time of year. The air was starting to get chillier but not an uncomfortable freeze yet. Right now was the calm after the Hunger Games where everyone, including the Capitol, seemed content on bloodshed. It's also around the time when the last tribute's families stop grieving just a little less.

Coming up on the only house inhabited in the small Victor's Village, I only give a quick knock as warning before letting myself in. Like usual, the overwhelming stench that greets me makes my nose wrinkle but I think I'm finally starting to get used to it. Either that or my sense of smell is finally dying.

"Haymitch?" I cautiously call out as I place my feet in strategic spots around the garbage lying around. In reply, I hear shuffling coming from the living area. I open a few of the windows on my way to the kitchen and immediately start picking out food, piling it into a small basket I brought with me. This has been a normal routine for years now. I come by, take some of the endless supply of victor's food, go back to the school and distribute them to the children. I don't actually work as a teacher, I'm a kind of librarian sub-teacher but it somehow makes ends meet. Well, that and mooching off Haymitch's food. For the kids though, it's never enough-I can't take too much or else the Capitol might find out and get upset by it. At least, that's what Haymitch warned me of when I first started doing this.

I finish filling up the basket before deciding to turn to Haymitch's needs. I grab some select ingredients and make a simple hangover concoction and head back out to try and wake him up. Going through the routine of cooing and trying to push him awake, I know it'll still take splashing some water in his face for him to stir. When he does stir, I silently hand him the cup. Even though he's in a perpetual drunken state, the hangover drink seems to make him more clear minded. I think so anyway, but you never know with Haymitch.

"Mornin' Haymitch," I greet him, my voice a little more peppy than I meant.

"You're up early, sunshine," he says through his grogginess. I brush off a clean spot on his table so I can sit. Glancing around the room, I decide I'll try cleaning the living room again tomorrow. I go back to looking at the man in front of me. It's really strange actually. I think I've known Haymitch longer than anyone else in District 12 now. The year he won his Hunger Games was the year I first entered into the reaping. Even after that though, I didn't really talk to him until I was in my twenties. When I came up with the idea of asking for food.

"Stealing some more food again?" he asks.

"You've got plenty to spare," I grin back at him, "You got any plans today? Besides yknow…drinkin and wreckin the house." This seems to amuse him as a lopsided smirk crosses his face.

"That was the plan, yeah. With optional peppy woman cleaning up after me again."

"Sorry, I've got other stuff to do. You're not the only one I have to take care of, y'know," I take this as a good spot to leave. After saying a quick goodbye, I exit back to the path and back towards the school, leaving Haymitch to himself.

I try to never admit it to myself, but I feel creeping warmth from my stomach. I honestly didn't like him at all when I first met the man. Too brash, condescending almost. I think I just didn't like how I couldn't read him. Now though, I sometimes wonder if I'd be able to keep my 'sunny' disposition if I hadn't met him; if we hadn't gotten so close. Maybe not 'close' exactly. That seemed too familiar.

But the truth is, I think I care for him too much.

* * *

I clutch the book close to me under my shawl and stare at my feet. I always have to pay special attention not to slip on the snow. It was so cold, I almost hadn't noticed Haymitch staggering near my house. Judging by the look on his face and the lack of clothes layers for warmth, he's pretty drunk, but apparently sober enough to remember my mentioning the book he was interested in a few days ago.

"Is that it?" He nods at the bundle in my arms. I nod and rush to open the door. He follows me in and I toss the book on the table. I'm aware of Haymitch eyeing it as he sits on the dilapidated couch in the living room. My house was hardly big enough for a couple of people-I live by myself so there really isn't any reason I would want anything bigger.

"It's freezing," I say and rush to get a fire started in the fireplace.

"Really, I hadn't noticed," I should've known he'd poke at me for making such an obvious comment.

"Well, if you feel fine, then I'll just keep all the blankets to myself," I say with a bit of an edge. If he wants to be mean and sarcastic then fine, I can be unpleasant right back. He notices my attitude and tries to take it back. I know Haymitch is real smart, but I always hate it when he pokes fun of my simple comments and thoughts.

"C'mon, sunshine," he apologizes and there's a hint of remorse. I brush his insult off quick and toss him the blankets. In a matter of two seconds I'm already over the small dispute.

"Well, that book should have what you wanted. It's not very detailed in the regions around the Districts but it has a good record of natural mountains and forests and lakes and things," I continue talking to him as I pull out a couple of bottles and glasses from the kitchen, "Wasn't easy getting it y'know. Actually, if the Capitol knew we had this I think it might get us in trouble. Or at least we'd catch their eye…._I'd _catch their eye." Haymitch is pretty much broadcasted to all of Panem half the time as it is. Me, on the other hand, feel blessed to keep my private life private. I glance at the adjacent couch from him, just starting to wonder if I should yank the bedsheets off my bed and bring them back when Haymitch notices.

"Come here," he holds an arm open to let me into the blanket with him. I hesitate but am in no condition to argue. After shivering outside all morning debating over the price of his book, I'm a little more than willing to tuck myself in with him. It feels a little strange. I don't recall him ever being this kind-or physically close before. Maybe he still feels bad about that comment or that he realizes he's the reason I was freezing so bad now. Then again, that seems like optimistic thinking on my part. When I fumble with pouring myself a drink, I can feel him looking at me curiously.

"For the warmth," I explain and drink it down. His reaction must be because he never sees me drink. Once he reaches forward to flip through the book, I make brief comments here and there, pointing out interesting details and opportunities. He, not so softly, explains to me why my ideas are misguided or just wishful thinking. I convince myself he means well and decide to purposely make stupidly outrageous ideas. I know I'm not very sharp-minded but I have pretty good instincts and I know Haymitch must be gathering this kind of information for something. I suspect he might be involved with some kind of resistance though I'd never talk to him about it aloud. He could just enjoy the idea of planning the Capitol's demise. Something tells me it would be a bad idea to talk openly about rebelling though. Us talking like this as it is might be too much. The Capitol can be listening anytime even though I don't feel like they are-but it's always better to be safe than sorry. I know how dangerous these words can be…

The night falls outside and I realize I must be feeling pretty drunk after joking around with Haymitch for so long. My senses are dimming and I'm only aware of the crackling fire, the sound of his voice, and how warm it is. How comfortable it is. I allow myself to slump onto his arm and just relax. He must be feeling extremely drunk now too since he also stops talking to just relax. I briefly wonder if he's just trying not to upchuck.

Sitting so close and cozy like this, I'm feeling too intoxicated to move. Warm feelings overtake me-the same warm feeling that I've been trying so hard to suppress. I can't fight them off. Eventually my mouth moves before I can really process it,

"Haymitch…you remember when Moon died?"

"Yeah." It might be unfair to him to be talking about this, but talk is what I keep doing,

"I don't think I ever thanked you…"

"For what?"

"Just being there," my voice almost falls to a whisper. It's been seven years since my husband had died. Moon Bordin. He was a year older than me when we met in school. We fell in love when I first became the District's designated librarian and got married soon after. We were talking about children right before he died…, "When Moon died, you were the only one that stayed with me. Everyone avoided me like I was death." Everyone was too scared to be associated with the rebel's wife to ever get near me.

"Because of the Capitol. You were lucky Gordon didn't think you were dangerous enough to execute with him," Gordon was our Head Peacemaker before Cray and had no tolerance for talk against the Capitol. He especially didn't like Moon talking so freely about his feelings on the matter. So much so that he publically hanged him in the square when I was at school. I remember running so hard when I heard. I couldn't see anything, my tears in the way. My throat was burning…I frantically push the images away.

"Sometimes I wished he did," I give a pathetic chuckle, "It's kind of stupid, but there was only one thought that got me through it. I convinced myself that you'd be lost without me pickin up after you…Honestly though, I'm sure you would've been fine." Through my slow thoughts, I can't remember why I never told him this before. A silence falls on us for a few minutes and I just concentrate on how nice it feels to be laying my head on him like this.

"I'll let you in on a secret then, sunshine," I crane my head to glance up at him. Haymitch looks back at me through the hair draping over his face with such intense eyes for a drunk man, "I wouldn't have been fine."

Something inside me does a flip and gets stuck in my throat. I can feel my heart beating really hard and it hurts. It's suffocating me, but I can't seem to rip my attention away from his eyes. It's like I can't shy away from his stare no matter where I go. Slowly my gaze lowers to his mouth, and my mind gets fuzzy. I lean closer and he meets me halfway. Our lips touch. Our kiss is slow and sweet. Nothing goes through my mind as the moment engulfs me. I'm so lost in it that I'm dazed when I suddenly don't feel him anymore. When my eyes open, Haymitch is tilting his head away from me.

"I should be getting back…" he says as I keep staring in confusion. He stands up and takes one of the bottles left on the table. I watch as he limps to the door and closes it behind him. I'm still staring when my mind finally catches up with me. Logic and reason returns to me along with a painful realization. I remember why I never told him how I felt at that time.

Haymitch once talked to me about how the Capitol killed his mother, his brother, and even his girlfriend. Every year since, he had to watch as the children under his tutelage were sacrificed to the Games. Everyone he cared about, and anyone he dared to care for, died before him.

My younger sister died in the Games when I turned 19, just a year too old to volunteer for her. My mother and father somehow blamed each other and split up. My father died in an accident in the mines while my mother died of a broken heart soon after. The one person I dared to love since then also died.

I never told Haymitch how much I care for him because I know neither of us could live through another heartbreak. If we were to get closer; if we were to start really loving each other, we would never survive if something happened to the other. It's just something we can't bare to do. Something we can't put ourselves through again. It was a silent understanding neither of us wanted to think about.

And now I broke it. He remembered this deal before I did and left before our relationship became unsalvageable. The warm comfortable feeling leaves. Tears break out loud and rough and I cry without any control. It's so painful, I wonder if this could possibly be worse than if he actually had died. The brief kiss-so sweet and unobtainable. I don't know how long it is before my body can't handle it anymore and I fall into a troubled sleep.


End file.
